


lull you to the calm

by Larrant



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:59:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8647399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larrant/pseuds/Larrant
Summary: Orson Krennic's days in the Brentaal Futures Program, mostly revolving around some farmboy from Grange.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [finalizer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalizer/gifts).



> Note: this is unbeta-ed and I wrote it on the fly. The level of being polished is 0. It's a mess, but I just decided to post it because I thought it wouldn't get any better.

 

 

There he is, the boy in the corner, the boy reading alone to himself on the bench. Orson eyes the stack of records piled high next to him. In the quiet area amongst the trees the boy would fade into the background, if you weren't looking for him. And Orson is.

He remembers hearing about Galen Erso from the start, the genius from Grange- ' _quiet'_ he had heard, ' _intellectual_ ', ' _shyer than a mouse_ '. On the other hand, he doesn't remember meeting the boy, doesn't remember introducing himself. But that will be rectified shortly.

(' _a genius? useless. he won't get anywhere, those scholarship students all turn out to be let-downs when they graduate._ ' cool, clipped. the rustle of paper turning.

orson had not replied, the image of the boy had flashed to mind. so without saying anything else on the boy he had seen, he continued the conversation to other topics.)

Maybe, he considers before he reaches the boy (who has noticed him- he can see from how Erso's shoulders have hunched just slightly, how the boy's concentration is _too_ focused on his books)- maybe this is because of the discouragement he has received, something that has only piqued his interest in this strange prodigy further.

But it can't be denied that he thinks he might see a little bit of himself in Galen Erso- and when he stops in front of the other boy, he has already arranged his lips into a faint smile. He hopes it's an expression that won't put Galen Erso off.

Brown eyes glance up to look at him, and behind the cool blankness of that gaze is hesitance.

"I'm Orson," he says, smiling as he reaches out a hand, "Orson Krennic."

 

* * *

 

Perseverance and persistence are the keys to unlocking Galen Erso's friendship, of that Orson is certain. So he keeps at it, surprising Galen from corridors or after classes, dragging the other boy along with him (willingly or not) to whatever party or event there is that night.

It becomes something of a routine, and when other people ask Orson about it- ' _why are you hanging out with **that** guy_ ', he waves them off dismissively. People start to sense that Orson Krennic has taken Galen under his wing, and that's the end of that.

In other, unexpected news, Galen Erso is less boring than Orson thought he would be, and more of an enigma. Including but not limited to the fact Galen doesn't seem to like parties but lets Orson take him anyway. He's  _contradictory_. Potentially it's just Orson's own inability to read Galen, but on the other hand he's pretty sure he reads Galen better than 99% of their classmates, if only due to interaction with him on a regular basis.

There's just- _something_ about him. Every time Orson figures something out about that guy's seemingly mundane personality- something else crops up that turns all of his preexisting conceptions upside down.

And _Galen_. It's infuriating, but the boy seems to see right through him. He doesn't even know how or why.

He'd thought Galen was dull, at the start- had immediately categorized him into a potentially useful future connection- and his attempts to befriend the boy were mostly out of an indignation he _hadn't ever gone to a party_ before (and deeper than that, the appeal of being the first person who made an impact on Galen Erso on this strange new world he was in- somehow or other, that would probably come in handy in the future).

But his thoughts had turned into a budding curiousity when he saw more of Galen, turned into an urge to unravel the boy he simply did not understand.

(because Orson is more than anyone gives him credit for, anything he wants, anything he sets his eyes on- it's _his_ by the end of the day- except for the enigma of Galen Orso, who seems intent on evading him, and that is unacceptable)

('maybe', a sardonic voice starts to mutter in the back of his mind- unimportant, he'll leave that for later, 'maybe you've just never had a crush on anyone before')

 

* * *

 

"Who have you made friends with now?"

His father sneers, places down his newspaper on the table- wasteful, they haven't printed news for centuries except to placate people like him. When Orson doesn't reply, the man continues, "Didn't I tell you people like that are useless?"

Orson carves a delicate slice of ham from his plate, and forks it into his mouth. He shrugs, leaning back against his seat. This is why he hates holidays and having to return home to _this_. He misses the nightclubs, the lights, the blood pumping through his veins.

"Well, I've heard your studies are going badly as well. Perhaps this _farmboy_ might prove useful in dragging your grades up." His father sounds sardonic.

Orson smiles blandly. "He's interesting," he says instead.

 

* * *

 

Galen Erso has been avoiding him. This is what Orson thinks as he finally corners Galen after a class. Physically corners him and has him between two tables, a wall, and Orson. No escape from here, not unless Galen manages to trapeze over him and run away (the other time he'd been coming even close from the other end of a corridor, Galen had apparently caught wind of it and fled to a class he didn't even attend).

So, here they are.

"You've been avoiding me." Orson says, bluntly.

Galen- the _gall_ of him- returns Orson's gaze, expressionless. Maybe, Orson thinks, he can see a tiny bit of guilt there, lurking in the way Galen's lower lip is set.

"Tell me what's going on," he continues, when Galen doesn't look like he's about to speak.

Galen blinks. But no, that innocent act won't work on Orson. He can wait, until Galen feels like offering up an explanation for why he's been avoiding Orson for an entire week.

"I don't know." Galen says eventually. And doesn't say anything else.

"What don't you know?" Orson asks, impatiently. Whatever it is, they can just get it out of the way.

Galen opens his mouth, and hesitates- but he seems to sense that Orson is fast losing his patience, so he says quickly, "I don't know how to." He pauses, before hastening on, "How to deal with this. With you. Us."

And Orson blinks. For a moment he thinks he slightly comprehends, and then he thinks he is mainly bewildered.

"I mean- we're. We." Galen composes himself. Not quite in time, jaw jutting out in vague defiance. "You want us to be friends."

"We're friends already, yes." He says blandly.

Galen isn't finished. "I don't know how to do that."

Ah. Now he understands.

"... If it was that simple," he says eventually, and snaps- "Look at me, alright,"- when it becomes clear Galen is doing his best not to turn his head in the direction of Orson at all. "Then why didn't you say so."

This time, Galen looks at him. He looks confused (and also a little bit insulted- ' _who are you calling simple_ ').

"I don't care," Orson says. "You do whatever you want. Don't think about how I'm going to respond, or what I want from you. You don't need to figure out how to be friends with me. I'm fine with you doing whatever you want."

It seems like he's hit the mark, because Galen falls still. The boy still looks like he wants to say something, like there's something on the tip of his tongue that might change the conversation entirely- but Orson's glare quickly banishes any thought of _that_.

"Sorry." He finally receives from the guilty boy, and Orson smirks, triumphant.

 

* * *

 

"Come on," he cajoles, "I'll pay for your drinks."

Galen doesn't look happy, but he seems to have resigned himself to his fate.

The nightclub is loud, music blaring from every corner. Galen slinks off to a corner of the bar, and Orson finds himself alone chatting up people he's never seen before. Every consecutive shot of brandy makes the world sharper, more in focus, and certainly a nicer place to be in to flirt with strangers.

He even manages to pick up a nice guy at the halfway mark of the night- tall, broad shouldered and his laugh is awful but at least his face is alright (slightly odd, that's never been his type before, but he's too inebriated to think about that further). He's in the middle of suggesting they move to somewhere more secluded, when suddenly Galen appears at his shoulder. Odd, since he hasn't seen Galen since the start of the night. He blinks.

A moment later, the confusion turns into indignation when Galen puts his hand on Orson's shoulder and pulls him back. "Sorry, but this guy's with me." Galen tells the guy, and Orson is too caught between surprise and bewilderment that he's not sure what to say for a moment. But when he glances back to question just what _Galen thinks he's doing_ , there's something dark and quelling in the other's eyes, and the words die on Orson's tongue.

A brief staring match later, the guy apparently takes the cue and leaves, and by the time Orson gets over the hitch in his throat to glare, he can't even spot the guy again amidst the crowd. Kriff.

"Seriously?" He hisses, more irritated than he should be (he ignores the possessiveness that had come over Galen's voice earlier, pushes away the unease for another time), and when Galen doesn't reply he swallows down the irritation, not giving Galen another glance as he not so gently pushes past and rejoins the throng.

The kriff was up with _that_? He forgets the entire incident by the time the night has ended and Galen is half dragging him out of the nightclub. He ends up dragging Galen into his bed because it's so kriffing cold and he needs body heat, and then promptly forgets about the entire matter when he wakes up.

Still, when he thinks back to it a few days later, he can't shake the unsettling feeling of confusion.

 

* * *

 

A moment of introspective thinking. Galen has probably become the only person Orson can talk to honestly. He can't figure out if that's sad or just unfortunate.

Potentially, a large part of the fact is because Galen sees right through him. He can't even lie to Galen without being guilt tripped into buying him that cake he likes from Frosts'.

(Galen doesn't even say anything, just stares at him with those piercing eyes until Orson gives up and turns up later with a cake bribe so that Galen might forget the utter atrocity he's just committed)

(Galen reminds him every time it's unnecessary, but considering Orson eats half the cake every time, Orson thinks it's very necessary)

He doesn't think their dynamic will ever change, really. And anyway, it's useful whenever he's caught up in some grand scheme and Galen manages to drag him back down to reality with nothing more than an unimpressed glare.

But there's something that nags at the back of his mind sometimes, when he's high on spice and the world is a mess of red and gold and colours brighter than anything on Coruscant. _Something_ , although he can't think what.

He tries to phrase it out sometimes, it never quite works. Except- _they're destined for each other_ , he finds himself saying aloud at one point in some flashing nightclub, the world sharper and clearer than anything to be beheld in daylight, and Galen says something Orson won't remember the next day. He protests futilely but gets hauled back to their dorms half an hour later.

(a part of him remembers those words though, thinks it must be true; this might be destiny, they might be destined, and the thought slots in like the final piece in a puzzle he can finally comprehend)

(but there's no such thing as destiny, and Orson doesn't realize that yet)

 

* * *

 

At some point, Orson has pretty much migrated into Galen's rooms at night. Sometimes he puts on music while they both work, and having someone to ask about physics theory is always a plus. Besides, Galen always manages to be a great influence for studying, the picture of a model student sat at his desk.

Sometimes though, Orson simply isn't in the _mood_ for studying.

Which is how he ends up putting up a waltz and hauling Galen up for a dance.

"I'm bored," he tells Galen, who looks unhappy.

"It's easy," he continues, before Galen can refuse, "You'll pick it up."

He doesn't look reassured, but maybe that's just Orson reading in to Galen's expressionless face too much.

So Orson teaches Galen how to dance, and Galen picks it up surprisingly quickly. Even if his steps falter and he seems overly focused on the motions rather than the flow- he seems particularly twitchy for some reason. Still, it's a start.

Orson chalks it up to uncertainty and Galen's lack of practice, and when Galen's hands leave him overly quickly when the music finishes, there's a faint pang of disappointment inside him, but he lets his friend go back to finishing that essay.

 

* * *

 

And then.

"You're attracted to me," Galen points out one day weeks later, when they're sitting opposite one another, playing a particularly hard game of dejarik.

Orson manages to knock over his power piece. The savrip growls at him in contempt from the holographic board, unable to pick itself up.

"Pardon?" He asks, alarmed.

Galen tells him, voice bland- and that goddamn expressionless face, that tone of voice, Orson knows _exactly_ where Galen got that from- "I'm not mistaken."

The first conclusion Orson arrives to is- 'lying is futile'.

"Yeah," he accedes, moving his savrip upright again. At least he can console himself by knowing Galen is equally if not more uneasy at the conversation they've started (why did he even start it).

"Do you." Galen pauses here, buys time to think kriffing hard about what he's going to say as he moves his piece across the board. Orson can _read_ the uncertainty in every movement Galen makes (somehow, it makes him feel more secure, though he won't say anything to that effect). "Do you want us to be together?" He copied that phrase from somewhere, Orson is sure.

"Not-" he pauses, "Not if you don't want to."

It occurs to him this might be the end of their friendship, if he doesn't deal with this the right way.

Galen moves his rancor forward. "That's not what I meant," he mutters, and ahah- finally, a crack. The tips of Galen's ears are turning red. Orson waits. "I believe I also. Reciprocate your feelings."

It takes a moment for Orson to piece that together. Beyond the clinical analysis of what that means- well, the realization crashes down on Orson with all the triumph of a stunning victory.

Oh.

... He can grasp all the mental implications of that later, when he's not face to face with Galen.

"That's fine," Orson says, moves past all the unnecessary words that they'd probably take hours trying to say, "We can take it slowly."

 

* * *

 

'Slowly' apparently turns into this barely a month later. He'd thought he'd have to give Galen at least a year, with how he was.

"You have to-" he starts, intending on giving a full blown (if narrowed down to the basics) tutorial on how two men have intercourse, and is therefore surprised when Galen is already pouring lubricant over his fingers.

"I know how," comes the reply, Galen raising an eyebrow as if to phrase the question 'why would I _not_ know', and Orson stares.

"How?" He asks suspiciously, and is completely certain Galen hasn't slept with anyone before. Except now there's now a tiny nagging doubt starting to sprout inside him, and it's half ludicrous, half indignant. _Has_ Galen slept with anyone else before?

(but then on a scale of one to ten, Galen is just _not the type_ to watch adult 'vids)

Galen doesn't reply, and Orson's mind moves on to the more important issue of- "Kriff, just hurry _up_."

Galen obliges.

 

* * *

 

"How the kriff did you do that," Orson asks later, twisting on the sheets to stare at Galen, suspicion and mistrust coming back full force.

Galen pauses in the middle of checking his tablet, shifty-eyed and guilty.

"I researched," he says, after a long pause. It's very bland. For a moment, Orson stares.

The moment after that, he realizes that the insinuation behind 'research' is probably- 'I didn't sleep for 10 nights because I was panicking over how to have sex with someone'. Because that's just the type of person Galen is.

"Oh." Orson replies.

Galen nods, and that's the end of that.

(Orson will never let Galen live that down though)

 

* * *

 

On the other hand, Orson finds that his dalliances with other people are. Lessening.

"The Erso effect," he mutters aloud to himself one evening, disgruntled over a piece of research he can't quite grasp yet, maybe because of the minor identity crisis he's going through, "Capable of reforming neural connections to promote monogamy in social creatures."

 

* * *

 

"I'm saying," he repeats, wishing Galen would understand, "That you shouldn't be so trusting."

Galen just looks at him, and then when nothing else is forthcoming he looks back at his screen, scrolling down an article on crystals.

"Why not? You're still caught up on the fact I was okay with you helping me in-"

"Yes," he hisses, trying to make his tone serious enough Galen will catch onto the seriousness, "You need to start being less trusting. _Anyone_ could take advantage of you."

Galen Erso is infuriating. And it's terrifying to think about what would happen if he left the Academy and found himself under the wing of some unscrupulous humanoid.

"But you're not trying to take advantage of me," Galen points out, nibbling on the corner of a piece of jerky. He seems entirely concentrated on his article, but there's something almost like bemusement in his voice. Orson is getting completely brushed off.

"Just listen," he says, exasperated. And then he adds, a little offended, "I _could_ be, you don't even know."

"Look at this. They're calling this newest breakthrough in physics for the past fifty years." Galen motions to his monitor, adding dryly, "Someone managed to prove the Golde theory."

Orson frowns, but. His mind backtracks. _That_ theory? Galen apparently senses his hesitation, because he uses the opportunity to tug at Orson's arm and drag him down to sit.

"Here," Galen shoves the monitor at him, and doesn't pause before he starts to babble on about energy and dimensions.

Unfortunately for the less academic side of Orson Krennic, the more academic side of him finds it entirely too engaging, and unwilling he forgets about their conversation for another day.

 

* * *

 

A note on the future: that conversation is one Orson will remember. He'll remember it with vivid starkness at some point, staring at an older, haggard Galen Erso. There'll be a shred of something left in him still, then. Something that will sit in his bones for a long time, quiet and uneasy, not daring to make itself heard, not daring to make itself known for fear of being destroyed.

(he'll remember that conversation for a long time in the future)

(he'll wonder, at some point, staring at the datapad in his hands- ' _why didn't you listen?_ ' and it might be exasperation, it might be sorrow, it might be nothing at all)

 

* * *

 

"Maybe I should go into research as well," Orson tosses out one day, casual and quiet. It's half a year until they graduate.

"Aren't you going into engineering?" Galen returns without a pause, scribbling some equation or other in a margin on his page. He's trying to squeeze in a last word onto the line.

"Yeah," he mutters, brows pulling into a faint frown. "... Yeah."

The question he wants to ask goes unspoken. He doesn't know how to phrase it, not yet.

Galen hears him anyway.

"It'll be fine," he says after a moment, probably because he's not articulate enough to articulate a reasoned and explained response, and Orson isn't convinced.

 

* * *

 

"I'm not going to stop at theory," Galen says later that night, and Orson stops what he's doing. "I'm not going to stay on Coruscant." He glances at Orson, sounding sure of himself, the most sure of himself he's been ever since he got that offer from the Research Center, "I'm going to discover more, write more, I'm going to find out answers to all the questions I've always had and I'll do it first-hand, I'll go out there and discover everything for myself."

There's something tight in Orson's chest, and he exhales. "Yeah," he murmurs, and thinks about his own ambitions. He thinks about history, thinks about what he can and will be. He smiles faintly, and the tightness doesn't abate, "Yeah."

 

* * *

 

When he hears Galen putting on a waltz, Orson is torn between amusement and confusion. When Galen pulls him up and settles a hand on the small of his back, Orson forcefully pushes away the nostalgia. He doesn't push away Galen's hands.

Galen's gotten better at dancing, he thinks, and can't swallow back the melancholy that finds its way to his chest.

 

* * *

 

"Hey," he says, pausing at the gates, "Send me souvenirs from Hoth."

He'd meant to say something else, something quieter maybe, something softer, but he finds that the words are missing. But that's fine, because Galen smiles, like he doesn't need to hear them to understand.

"Yeah, I will."

And when Galen leans in to brush his lips against Orson's own, there's something in the softness of it that makes the sensation twist in his chest.

He thinks, quite briefly- even though this is by no means the _end_ of things, even if he'll never let this be the end between them, maybe this is where everything stops being the same.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely appreciate kudos and comments. I reply to all comments :').
> 
> So I read Catalyst for the first time yesterday and.  
> Welp.  
> THE GAYNESS. DIAKLFDKLSJFLDKSAJFKLJ


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